Risks
by Orange Seltzer
Summary: This was her one chance to make everything perfect. [IvyxHarley]


Disclaimer:If I owned D.C Comics, the world would be scary.

X..x.x..X

Broken promises, black eyes and being wanted in two dozen states, including Alaska. Harleen Quinzel's life changed in seventy-two sessions with the Mogul of Mountebanks, made her voice go up an octave or two, made her switch to contacts, made her break into a costume shop and assemble her infamous red and black jumpsuit. But was it worth it? Nobody, least of all I, Pamela Isley, could see it. Sure, he supplied the "most amazingly amazing whoopee" but given the chance, so could I. Still, every time I'd comfort her, every time _he'd _lock her out and I'd take him in, I was always so sure that this time I would turn Harley. I'd make her realize the Joker would never really love her, but I would (unconditionally) and we'd be the name disastrous duo of Gotham. But at the last minute, that God-awful clown would listen to his head in his pants, decide he could really use a romp in the sack, and "beg" her to come back. She always would, I'd always lose; and although I knew there'd be a next time (there always was) and I could take my chance.

This was my chance.

We were locked away in Arkham, she wasn't allowed anywhere near him. But I could. We'd have girl's only therapy once a week where I'd sit next to her, gazing at her lumpy-jumpsuit and wanting to get into it. Dr.Leland would observe, ask the questions, some of them light and friendly ("Did anyone have the casserole last night? Yuck!") To more serious ones ("Why did you turn to a life of crime?") and we'd always start out by announcing our names.

"My name is Pamela Lillian Isley."

"Hi Pamela," they'd all greet me like we were friends. We were sisters in a way, bound together by our "insanity" and love for a life of crime. Selina, Harley, all of them (mostly unwillingly) trying to break their habits, become model Gotham citizens.

"My name is Harley-een Quinn…zel…And I LOVE MISTAH J!"

It was like this every time, she'd start screaming, her round face turning a blotchy shade of pink-red, kicking her feet, tears forming fat and angry. The guards would give her a tranquilizer, and we'd continue like nothing happened. The only people it really bothered was Joan Leland-she wanted so badly for her former co-worker to return to her old state of mind-and of course, me.

Later we'd be in the Common Room, and a nurse would give Harley her lithium, and me my Zoloft, and I'd deem myself responsible for cheering her up. Cracking jokes about how stupid this place was, and didn't "Catlady" look ridiculous in her jumpsuit? The former moll would shrug, eyes still red, and puffy.

"Aww, babe, cheer the hell up. You're eyes are matching my hair."

I kind of had a glare coming at me. Kind of. Sighing, I reached my hand out to touch hers', before a burly guard barked about the no touching rule. I wanted to tell him to screw himself, but I also wanted to get out of here, back into botany, give being a good person a test run, and ultimately a life of crime. "Go fuck yourself Ted" never ended well; I learned that two months ago. He'd looked me in the eye-how dare him!-and say, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Causing me to go temporarily insane and slap in the face. That resulted in confinement. A day without seeing my Harley.

"Red, hello?"

I had spaced out, totally ignored her lament about her "Puddin."

"What?"

"Should I just forget about him? Find someone else?"

This was my chance, my one big break. I muttered an "Um…" to bide me some time, as I wondered how to tell her yes, find me. Find someone who'll love you like nobody else, least of all the Clown Prince of Crime. Reaching out to her hand, I stroked it, noticing how ragged and ugly the nails had become while being here. I ignored Ted's warning. I looked her in the eyes, and opened my mouth.

"No touching!"

I spun around, the rage probably causing my face to blotch up, look ugly. He distracted me from my chance; he was going to get it.

"Fuck yourself Ted."

And the routine began, ending with me being dragged away, staring at Harley, who gave a little wave. I'd be in solitary confinement for a day, but I'd have other chances to tell her how I felt. Wouldn't I?


End file.
